


Charmed

by CandidCantrix



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Brief Violence, F/F, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandidCantrix/pseuds/CandidCantrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kink meme prompt: "Josephine who is secretly a mage, and is just really really good at hiding it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charmed

Josephine hears the door creak open, but stays sitting on her bed, little legs dangling over the side without touching the floor. The room is dark, apart from the fire slowly dying in the grate. She doesn't want to talk. If she does, the words will spill right out of her.

Mother doesn't pick up on any of her silent cues. Josephine feels the bed dip beside her.

"The maid tells me you've been quiet these last few days," she says. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, Mother," says Josephine, and smiles. She hasn't got it right; Mother still looks worried.

"Are you sure?"

Josephine wants to tell her, wants to tell someone, but she _can't_. It presses on her from the inside, welling up through her eyes. She keeps them open till they're hot and her vision blurs.

"Josephine, are you crying?" asks Mother, and that's it, she's burying her face in her hands. Mother makes a noise and pulls her into her arms but she doesn't understand. She'll ask questions, and then they'll _take Josephine away_. Mother's shirt is getting wet where the tears are soaking into it, but Josephine just clings tighter when Mother shifts, thinking _not yet, not yet._ This might be the last time Mother hugs her. She realises she might never get to hug Father again, and her breaths come high and gasping because she can't make them still.

Her mother tries and fails to prise her off so she can look at her; Josephine hides her face in Mother's shoulder. "Josephine!"

She can't hold on; it bursts out of her as a wind that sweeps the room. Her chair falls over, the fire winks out, Mother clings to her hair as the magic threatens to rip the pins out of it. Josephine makes a grab at it with her mind to rein it back in, but it's too late.

She goes still, apart from one or two hiccups, the aftershocks of her sobbing. Otherwise, she's frozen. She waits for Mother's judgement.

Mother is quiet for a long time, but doesn't stop holding her.

"I suppose the rumours about Grandmere Fleur were true," she said. "I always wondered."

Josephine doesn't know what to say to this, but it doesn't sound...bad. She dares to peek out of Mother's blouse. She wants to ask, but she doesn't know what the question is, and there's still too much inside her for her to dare saying anything. She meets Mother's eyes instead. Mother sighs and looks away.

"My mother's mother," she says. "Your great-grandmother, she died before you were born."

Josephine knows this. She's seen the portrait among the others in the hall. She vaguely remembers it, but the woman in the painting was neither pretty or wearing the silk gowns of the earliest ones, so it's never been one of her favourites.

"She single-handedly defended the house against bandits once," said Mother. "She said the local guard helped, but no-one ever knew how she held out till they arrived. And her flower-arranging skills were nothing short of suspicious."

Mother smiles a little. "Of course, no-one would have been so impolite as to suggest anything to her _face_. No one doubts a charming, respectable young noblewoman, not if she's discreet. Do you understand, Josephine?"

Josephine has seen her mother whisk herself through parties, intimidate creditors, charm merchants into good prices. She knows that Mother has powers even hers don't come close to. Mother could fight off the world, and she's offering to teach Josephine.

Josephine nods.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you not to breathe a word of this to anyone. Not friends you want to impress, not your brothers and sister, not even your father."

Josephine nods again.

"Good girl," says Mother, and draws Josephine into a tight hug, letting her bury her face in her shoulder again. Josephine feels Mother's chest rise with a long, somewhat shaky breath, then the rhythm returns to normal.

"You will always be my beloved daughter," says Mother, next to her ear. "And I promise, I won't let anything happen to you."

 

\---

 

About a month later, Josephine is told she'll be starting poetry lessons.

 Her father is happy, since he believes education is an investment that gains higher returns the earlier one starts. Her sister is not, since she's been told she's still too young to join in. She tells Josephine she doesn't want to play games any more, to which Josephine retorts that she's too old to play games anyway, and Yvette bursts into over-dramatic tears and the whole thing has to be sorted out by the nursemaid.

Mother arranges the whole thing. To Josephine's surprise, she doesn't pick one of the locally accredited tutors used by most of her friends, but a Rivaini who mostly teaches outside Antiva City. Mother says something vague about trade contracts and no-one questions the matter. Besides, given the length of the lessons, no-one can blame her for wanting a good deal. Three hours every day! Even Father thinks it's extreme. But Mother is firm.

Her tutor's name is Divar, and he starts by getting her to stand in front of him, in the study they've appropriated for a classroom, and read aloud a classic story of a blaze that wrecked half the Antivan palace centuries ago. She does her best - she always tries hard for her parents - but she's no natural. The sunlight filters through the little study window, and she's distracted by the dust motes in the square of light on the floor. Her mouth is dry. Perhaps she can call a servant for a glass of water.

Having a stranger sit in front of her and scrutinise her makes her fidget, particularly someone with eyes as keen-looking as Divar's. She still imagines that someone will just look at her and see what she truly is. And the more nervous she gets, the more her magic buzzes inside her.

She's just finished describing the way the palace roof erupted in a ball of flame, when he cuts in.

"Ah, not quite," he says, standing up. "Move your feet a little, shoulder-width apart, and stand tall. Imagine someone is pulling on a string that leads from your spine right to the top of your head. Good! Good posture leads to good breathing, and good breathing is essential for the voice. It also helps you concentrate."

He takes her hand, not firmly, and turns it palm-upwards. He mirrors the position.

"For example," he says. "How about we concentrate on that image of the fire? Not the inferno, just one small flame. Imagine it warm, flowing from your chest and into your hand. Like so."

He curls and uncurls his fist, and a tiny ball of fire, no bigger than a candle flame, appears in his palm. Josephine stares at it, then up into his dark eyes, gleaming in the light.

 "If you please, Lady Montilyet," he says, keeping the flame in his palm. "From stanza 17 again."

"Molten tongues...devoured the walls," she whispers, imagining channelling that buzzing feeling. She pictures it running through her veins and up her arm. "Swallowed up the golden halls."

When it comes, her relief and anticipation make it burst forth like from a broken dam, and she staggers back from the force of it. Divar shields his eyes with one hand, but his other is equally quick to slam down frost on her palm. She cradles her numb fingers to her chest, but is glad to know he won't let her lose control.

"See?" he says. "Already more dramatic! But I think a more subtle touch is required here. Don't think fire, think warmth."

When she succeeds, he holds out the ball of flame in his hand, a partner to hers. They trade conspiratorial grins over the twin glows.

 

\---

 

 Josephine falls in love with magic over the next year. The power humming inside of her, once she learns not to fear it, is captivating. It's secret enough to be exciting, but she's not keeping the secret by herself anymore. Divar is a confidant, someone who knows the same joy. He teaches her how to light the fireplace and make tiny sparks, how to feel the Fade and conjure pristine snowflakes. He teaches her poetry too, so that there will be no gaps in her knowledge for others to spot, and she masters it like a weapon. There's a thrill in giving a perfect recital and knowing no-one suspects that she mastered it in a room filled with her own light.

In fact, he rarely speaks in terms so direct as magic and spells. Mostly they cover poetry that links back to his real lesson; someone could stand outside the door the entire time and not suspect a thing.

Demons are a problem, but surprisingly the one who helps her deal with those is not Divar, but Mother. Not intentionally, but Josephine constantly receives advice about dealing with powerful people, with traders who cheat. The rules can be applied on either side of the Fade.

Sometimes, Josephine thinks about tracking down the other girls Divar tutors. Maybe watching them somehow,  finding out if they're like her. They could be friends. Occasionally she fantasises about sneaking out at night and using her powers for good, to heal the poor and stop bandits, before climbing back into her window and leaving everyone confused. Who would guess the powerful mage was the daughter of House Montilyet?

 

\---

 

One day, she goes to the study to find it empty. She waits. She's almost about to call a servant, when Mother comes through the door.

"Oh, here you are!" she says, as if Josephine would have been anywhere else. Her eyes are wide and a little watery. "I'm so sorry, darling. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Mother tells her. She stands and waits afterwards, as if she expects Josephine to run forward for a hug, but Josephine is frozen with shock. Eventually, Mother leaves her to the study.

Divar has been declared an apostate and taken by Templars.

The next week is unpleasant. Suddenly burdened with far too much free time, she mostly keeps to herself in her room. She sits on her bed, staring into the dark, waiting for a knock downstairs. Waiting for the Templars to come and take her away too.

The Templars do call, but more as a formality than anything else. Mother invites them for tea and chatters about how shocked and appalled she is, and how poor little Josephine is so upset by it all, finding out her poetry teacher was an apostate. And he was such a good poetry tutor! They should hear Josephine's original compositions, there was one about a garden that was simply a delight.

"You see?" says Mother afterwards, with a somewhat sad smile. "Nobility, politeness and charm. Those are your weapons, Josephine, I need you to remember that."

The next night, Josephine sneaks out to the Circle Tower. It's the naughtiest thing she's ever done, and she's so terrified she can barely grip the walls as she climbs out of her bedroom, but she'd never be allowed to go during the day and she _has to know_.

She hides in a bush just across from the moat where the Tower looms. She waits outside for what seems like hours, till her thighs are aching from crouching and her clothes are damp. The sky is beginning to lighten and she's wondering how late she can leave it before turning back.

Then at one of the higher windows, a figure appears. It's a man, with dark skin, who wanders across her view, shoulders slumped, before disappearing back into the tower.

She doesn't dare call to him. She's not even sure it _is_ him. But she hopes it is, because the idea that their last session was the last she'd ever see of him is too horrible to think about.

"Goodbye," she whispers, and runs back home.

From then on, whenever she thinks of magic, she thinks of the man who may or may not have been her tutor, pacing in front of a window too high for her to see properly.

She does not think about sneaking out anymore.

 

\---

 

The day after her fifteenth birthday, her parents tell her they're sending her to Orlais.

"It's a finishing school in Val Royeaux," says Mother. "Lady Benvenita sent her daughter there last year and speaks _very_ highly of their tuition. And it will do you good to mix with the Orlesian nobility."

Josephine has to struggle simultaneously not to cry and not to let her magic off its leash. "But I don't want to go away!"

"Oh, Josephine," says Father. "Believe me, I don't want you to. But your mother is right."

"I could go to a finishing school here! All my friends are going to Escuela Antiva, I could too!"

"Josephine," says Mother, gently. "If you are as good a head of the family as I hope you'll be, you'll need knowledge of Orlais one day. There's no better time to learn."

"I won't know anyone!"

"There's Benvenita's girl, Lilia. She'll be in the year above."

"Then she won't talk to me!"

"Then you'll learn to make new friends, and so much the better," says Mother. She looks Josephine right in the eye. "You know, Orlesians learn a lot of interesting social ways. Discretion. Secrets. How to politely evade questions..."

Josephine's eyes widen. She glances to Father, who looks confused, then back to Mother, who just gives her one small nod.

She is sent to Orlais the very next week.

 

\---

 

Whether Orlais feels like a dream because of its beauty, or because Josephine arrives exhausted and sleep-deprived from the long journey, she doesn't know at first. From the moment they enter Val Royeaux, Josephine can barely keep her mouth shut. The buildings tower above her, sparkling in the sun, and everyone who passes is masked like an actor. Later, she'll realise the unreal feeling is all due to the magic of the city. She'll keep expecting to start taking its spires for granted, but she never does.

Surprisingly, she enjoys school too. She makes friends just as quickly as Mother predicted, finding that not being from Val Royeaux is an advantage. Her name is enough to dissuade bullies out for those learning above their station, but no-one has any rivalries with the Montilyets. It's only when she starts meeting her friends' parents that she gets inklings of why.

Mother and Father have worried about money since as long as she can remember. There were whispers about traders and prices, and that long discussion they had behind closed doors before half the servants left. She thought it was all just prudency. But they're more desperate than she thought, aren't they? Meeting the jewels of the Imperial court throws the Montilyet estate into sharp contrast. Mother's gowns are lovely, but mostly heirlooms, whereas Josephine knows Orlesian ladies who never wear the same outfit twice, sometimes not even in the same day. Her charming old manor mostly seems old when she steps foot inside the gleaming lobby of Lady Blanche's chateau. The next summer, Josephine goes back home and persuades Mother to explain everything about their financial status.

It's ugly. They're in debt, have lost most of their lands, and almost no-one outside the family knows. No wonder they have no rivalries. They can't afford any more.

It makes Josephine a little ashamed of enjoying the luxury around her.

Her lessons, though, are enjoyable. Josephine learns that she's clever, and that helps. The school covers everything from mathematics to etiquette, and she takes in as much as she can, soaking up anything that will help her grow into a good Montilyet heir. Her family depends on her, after all.

The one thing they don't teach is magic.

It's the first time since she gained her powers that she's had no space to exercise them, and it itches. Divar's lessons taught her some control, but not for this, not for having to rein them in _all the time_. After a while, she gets so used to it that she wonders if her magic's even there any more. Can people lose it, if it goes unused? The thought makes her pulse race, but she has no idea if she's scared or relieved.

One night, she wakes up to see a demon leaning over her bed in the school dormitories. There are thirteen other girls in there, all in their bunk beds, snoring.

"Little Josephine," it purrs. "You want to be free, don't you? That's not such a bad thing. Everyone wants that. It's positively _unfair_ that it's just you who can't."

Josephine freezes, for the first time since demons started coming to her.

"It's not their fault, really. It's because they can't understand. But I do." It runs a claw down her cheek. "Give in to me, and I'll set you free."

Josephine wakes screaming in the dark, for real this time, and some of the other girls groan and stick pillows over their heads. The nicer ones go to fetch a teacher. Josephine says she's fine, then asks permission to go to the bathrooms and wash her face.

Once inside, she huddles in the corner, shaking. Then slowly, ever so slowly, she opens her hand and calls a flame to it, just like Divar showed her. The little light cuts rays through the darkness, and something pent up inside her eases. It's not gone. Her magic's not gone.

She makes a habit of sneaking to the bathrooms at night. She'd be in trouble if they caught her, but not as much as if they knew what she does in there, opening and closing her hand like a flower, sighing as the fire blooms.

 

\---

 

 

Before graduation, the school holds a ball. It's Josephine's first proper Orlesian ball, and according to conversations with more experienced friends, the school's balls are on a par with the Empress's. Josephine struggles to remember her manners and not gawp at the dresses, the decorations, the luxury.

There's a musician in the corner, a singer not much older than she is, with red hair. She's not a fellow pupil. She sings sweet and high in the background, but no-one even looks at her. Well, perhaps Orlesians are too jaded to admire beautiful things, but not Josephine. After the singer steps off, she plucks up the courage to go over.

"That was wonderful! That last song, the folk one - you were like a songbird!" The words gush out of Josephine before she can refine them into something more delicate. She stops and blushes, but the girl seems to like her enthusiasm.

"You flatter me, my Lady," she says. "I don't think I've had the honour of your acquaintance?"

"Oh, where are my manners?" says Josephine. "I'm sorry. I'm Josephine, of House Montilyet."

"Ah, I know that name! Mine is Leliana. You're Antivan, are you not? How are you finding Orlais?" says Leliana.

"It's amazing," sighs Josephine. "Do you know, I saw a lady wearing a dress made entirely of phoenix feathers here earlier?"  

"Lady Montblanc? It _is_ fine, isn't it? But you should see Lady Etoiline's shoes." She leans a little, inviting gossip. "Mirrors, set in solid silverite. Ridiculously heavy, but the shine..."

Josephine's eyes widen a little just imagining it. Leliana seems pleased with the reaction, her mouth quirks at the corner.

They talk for a while. Eventually Leliana has to leave to perform again. Josephine doesn't think much more of it.

 

\---

 

After graduation, she attends a university back in Antiva City, where she spends a good third of the time simply soaking in the surroundings again. She sinks her teeth into the fresh, flaky fish served at her favourite restaurant along the Rialto Bay, licking the spicy crust off her lips. Orlesians don't eat much spice, so for her first month back she constantly orders the hottest, most heavily seasoned dishes she knows, and buys whole punnets of Antivan olives to snack on in her lodgings. She wanders the streets, smiling at the familiar phrases tossed around in the market and brushing her fingers along the old stone buildings. She'd always thought Antivan architecture looked old and run-down - nothing like the gleaming shops of Val Royeaux - but now she sees it for its character, all its history proudly on display like a dowager's wrinkles. It's quaint. It even inspires her to write poetry a few times, sitting under a lantern by the docks on the warmer evenings. Nothing particularly good comes of it, but it's relaxing.

The rest of her time is divided between writing letters to the classmates she last saw on the stones steps of Academie du Lion, and slipping right back into Orlais. Or rather, Orlesian studies, her speciality. She has an edge over those of her classmates who have never been to Orlais and cannot speak fluent Orlesian, but she tries not to show off. There's no need to be rude and besides, she's not comfortable standing out.

Instead, she trades her knowledge. Nothing...indiscreet, just letting it become known that if anyone can't read a tricky sentence or doesn't understand a particular context, Josephine Montilyet will help with a smile. After a couple of months back home, she finds she's never short of company.

But her lodgings are private, a little apartment ten minutes from the university. Rented, strictly speaking, rather than her family's property, but no-one has to know House Montilyet sold all its land in the city centre decades ago. It's a charming place, anyway, with a view of the marketplace. And it has room for her to practice magic again. 

Nothing too outrageous, of course. She doesn't want to leave traces of her activities, and she can never shake the feeling that someone might knock at an inopportune moment. But it's been so long since she had anywhere she could make a true connection with the Fade, and it's like stepping out of ill-fitting boots at the end of the day. It warms her, welcomes her, encourages her to play. One day, remembering some golden robes she once saw in an Orlesian boutique, she slips into an undergown and ties a shirt around her shoulders, then tries casting. It's almost nothing like she imagined wearing robes, probably because they aren't, and she feels so silly she changes back after only two or three spells.

Of course, practising her magic is practical too. The more she flexes her control, the more control she feels she has. She develops a habit of playing with the candle while she studies; pouring heat into it, then calling it back. Up, down, up, down. It's almost comforting until the day she does it in the library, without thinking. None of her friends notice, but her heart nearly stops with the shock of what she almost did, and she spends the next week avoiding candles completely and stumbling around her apartment in the dark.

Most of her friends are nobles; not intentionally, but few others can afford the education, and it's easy to make acquaintances through friends of friends. After her first year, she finds herself studying with a group of them.

There's Carina, who has a deep love of Orlesian theatre and no aptitude for the language whatsoever, but doesn't resent Josephine for hers. Savio is the son of a merchant prince. Beaumont is technically related to Josephine, they find out over bonding over their shared Orlesian ancestry, a distant cousin from an offshoot line who married back into nobility.

It's Savio who finds the book one day, pawing through the library shelves while the rest of them sit around a growing stack of paper.

"Songs for Secrets," he reads aloud, glancing over the top of the cover to gauge their attention. "The Singular Spies of Orlais."

"A few too many Ss, I think," says Josephine. She muses over her essay on Orlesian drama. It's strange writing about a play she once performed in class.

 Savio leafs through the first few pages, turning them slower when it catches his attention. "Apparently, most court musicians in Orlais are actually spies."

"No!" says Carina. "That can't be true, can it?"

"Sounds like one of these plays to me," says Beaumont, not looking up from his essay.

Carina turns to Josephine. "You went to court, didn't you, Josephine? Did you notice any spies?"

"If she'd noticed them, they'd hardly be spies," says Savio.

To their combined surprise, Savio doesn't let the matter drop. Instead, he asks their lecturer at the end of the next class. The answer isn't what Josephine expects.

Oh yes!" the professor twitters. "One of the great court traditions, bards. In fact, it's well-known that you attract rivals simply by inviting bards to your event, but apparently that's part of the appeal! The host gains a certain devil-may-care image, and a wise player of the Game finds a way to use their enemy's spy against them. Planting false evidence, staging conversations... so on. They've been gaining in popularity over the last decade or so. There's a trend for young nobles to find a patron and practice playing the Game, before making any moves for themselves."

Josephine thinks back to the ball she attended in Val Royeaux. The red-haired singer she'd spoken to. Had she been a spy all along?  How exciting!

Josephine yearns to go back and see if she can spot any clues, knowing what she does now. Carina is thrilled by the idea of bards, Beaumont interested, but Savio spends the next week practically buzzing with excitement. He spends more time reading the book he found tucked away on a library shelf than he does on any of the textbooks for class.

"We should become bards," he says one day.

Josephine looks up from her writing, but neither of the other two do.

"I'm sorry, I think I misheard you?" she says, with an uncertain smile.

Savio latches onto her attention. "You heard the professor! Young nobles become bards all the time in Orlais. Why don't we?"

It's absurd.

"I'm in," says Carina. "You are serious, aren't you?"

It's ridiculous.

"Sure he is," says Beaumont, grinning.

Josephine can picture it, that's the strange thing. Such a foolish image shouldn't even cross her mind but - imagine! Being in the thick of the Game.

"I am," says Savio, and looks it. "There's no reason we can't. Beau, weren't you planning on going to Orlais when we're finally out of here? And Josephine's been already, she can hook us up with patrons."

A bard in the Imperial court. She'd be charming, desired, mixing with the highest echelons of society. 

"Oh, no, don't ask me," says Josephine. "All of my friends are our age, they wouldn't be looking for bards."

She gives her imaginary self a voice like the red-haired girl's too, because why not.

"How easy would it be?" says Beaumont. He's actually looking up at Savio now. "Is it a good way to enter the Orlesian court?"

Secrets, says a little voice in the back of her head. She'd learn to keep secrets. She could play the Game so that no-one would dare mess with hers.

But - no. Leaving Antiva again, when she's only just got back? Her family? Besides, she sings like a little girl at the best of times, and like the squawking birds by the docks when she tries too hard.

"I could find out," says Savio.

"We'll be like Comte Flecher from the Tale of the Walled Garden!" says Carina.

"The villain?" says Beaumont.

"The best character. Imagine the romance, the mysteries..."

"I'm going even if none of you do. My uncle's a Crow," says Savio. "He said I wasn't suited. I become a bard, I'll prove him wrong."

"Perhaps," says Josephine, slowly, "I can approach my friends' parents."

 

\---

 

Josephine is not a very good bard.

Oh, she has a certain popularity at salons, mostly due to her background. Antivan family, Orlesian ancestry, it makes her exotic without being scandalous. Her patron, a twice widowed woman in her forties named Lady Genevieve, coos at her knowledge of poetry - how very Antivan! But she can't sing, and the lute she's been learning on and off for a year isn't really a substitute. She gets on well with people, but she's never been the sort of quick wit who can draw a crowd. Savio, she hears, has the ears of the Empress.

In the end, though, she doesn't care.

The Game is the thrill she wanted from magic as a child, the secrets and the power. Her dreams of magic were ripped to shreds when she understood how quickly they'd lock her away; in the Game, she could just be killed. It's much less frightening, probably because it's harder to picture.

Her professor wasn't wrong; there are many, many other bards around, once she knows where to look. The older ones tend to stick to the powerful and informed, but those her age flock together at parties, unless they have particular business. It's not very discreet, but that's the point - what's the point of glamour without showing it off? For herself, she says she's simply information-gathering, and it's at least a month till she admits that she really just enjoys the gossip.

Much of the time, bards tend to gossip about other bards with the same sort of professional rivalry and curiosity shown by every Orlesian Josephine has ever met. What Lord so-and-so did to blow his cover, Lady such-and-such's new patron. They also discuss their betters. The legends, who they'd all watch from the shadows if any of them had the stealth to get close. Whispered names: Rosethorn, Rat, Twinblade. They're like storybook characters to the novice bards.

But one time, she overhears two bards discussing her.

"Did you see Lady Montilyet's performance at the soiree, though? Practically provincial."

"Ah, but so are the Montilyets these days."

 "Such a shame."

Josephine's cheeks flush, and at first she thinks it's just anger, but to her horror she feels the air grow staticky and people start turning to ask if it's just them or is it hot in here. The power buzzes in her like it hasn't since she started lessons with Divar.

"Fine lines, coming from those two," says an amused voice behind her. "House Bonet bought its titles one generation ago, and the heir of House Laveux eloped with an Antivan Crow."

Josephine turns. The lady behind her is red-haired, a few years older. She frowns, trying to place her.

"You are Lady Josephine of House Montilyet, no?" she said.

"Ah, yes!" said Josephine. "Excuse me, have we met before?"

The lady smiles. It's warm, and whether genuine or not, Josephine latches onto it, feeling her magic calm again. "I'm surprised you remember. It was some years ago, at -"

"The Academie ball!" cries Josephine. "You were the singer! Lady...Leliana?"

Leliana gives a small bow. "And now it seems _you_ are the singer, Lady Josephine."

Josephine flushes as she remembers a time when she didn't know that Orlesian entertainers were anything special. She hopes Leliana doesn't notice her embarrassment and put two and two together. She's clearly an accomplished player of the Game.

Words from a few metres away cut through her nervousness.

"Do you think she learned how to play the Game from a book? She has the title, yes, but she's hardly native to the court."

Josephine's fists clench, but she's startled by Leliana touching her lightly on the back of the hand.

"My advice?" says Leliana. "Nobles like that gossip to draw attention away from problems in their own homes. If you're in a position to find out what those problems are, do. And if not.... smile. Smile when they praise you, smile when they mock you, and they'll never know if they've scored a hit." Leliana's smile reappears. "Don't worry, you're doing quite well."

Leliana gives her a friendly nod and strolls off into the crowd. On her way, she stops by the two noblewomen, bends her head and murmurs something. Josephine can't make out the words, but one woman looks anxious while the other starts trying to glance surreptitiously at her shoes. Leliana leaves them and goes up to a woman Josephine knows as Lady Marjolaine. The two laugh and sail off through the ballroom.

Without taking her eyes off to the two noblewomen, Josephine pushes the rage down, pastes on a smile, and makes up her mind. She always took her duties as heir seriously, but this, this goal is personal. She will retrieve her family's fortune and lift them onto an equal footing with any house here. Her siblings will never want for luxury, and they will never have to listen to mockery.

Another bard approaches Josephine; she's surprised to see it's Carina under the mask. She's even more surprised when Carina leans in and hisses in her ear: "How do you know the Nightingale?"

"The Nightingale?"

"You were just talking to her! Don't tell me you didn't know!"

Josephine raises a hand to her mouth. "I didn't," she says. Lovely Lady Leliana, the woman who toppled a Comte from nobility and had the Lady Trevine imprisoned for treason?

Carina stares at her. "You truly didn't, did you? Anyone else, they'd be lying, but you - I know you, you just won over one of the greatest bards in the court without even trying. Tell me, how did you get her to approach you?"

Josephine stares after Leliana's departing figure. "I have no idea."

 

\---

 

It's not the last time she bumps into Leliana, much to Carina's envy. They're not exactly friends, but they occasionally meet at parties. Even more occasionally they talk. Their patrons tend to move in separate circles, so there's no reason to collaborate or clash on a professional level - Josephine sometimes wonders if she's playing a different Game on a different board entirely - but Leliana's been known to let slip some intriguing snippets in return for more of the same.

"The wider the net, the more chance of catching fish," Leliana explains. "I don't know all your...acquaintances, but in the future? Who knows?"

Josephine often sees her with Lady Marjolaine. The two draw her eye, somehow. Maybe it's the way they stand close together, or the whispering, or the way Leliana looks at her.

When she gets better at reading people, she thinks _Ah_ , and feels smug from there on that she's rooted out Leliana's piece of the Game.

There's one night, however, when she sees Leliana catch her eye across a ballroom and can spare little more than a strained smile in return. Her patron is in danger.

"How courteous," Lady Genevieve had spat over breakfast, brandishing the threatening letter she'd received that morning. "Surely that fool stepson of mine. Lord Harret - he's never stopped blaming me for his father's death."

"Ah...forgive me if I am wrong, my Lady, but didn't you arrange it?"

"No, no, you're thinking of my first husband," says Lady Genevieve, waving a hand vaguely. "See here, Harret warns me to take care in my bed tonight. A ham-fisted way of diverting my guard from the true location. But where? We will be staying at Comte Marvais's chateau  after the ball tonight, so there's any number of places an assassin could strike. I want you to keep an eye on the party guests, see if you can't pick up a hint."

"But you, my Lady?"

"I will take precautions - a dagger tucked into my ballgown should do it. Don't fret," she says, smiling like a woman who once chose the poison to be slipped into her husband's wine, "you're not the only one who decided to spend their youth as a bard."

And so Josephine has spent the entire evening mingling with nobles, mingling with servants, hiding in corners, but has found no trace of Harret's plot. Was it an empty threat? The man is not known for idle bluster.

The lights dim; the musicians move onto slower songs. Some guests filter out. It should be easier to see suspicious behaviour now the crowd has thinned, but Josephine sees nothing. Including her patron.

Where is Lady Genevieve?

Josephine gasps, and heads for the stairs, elbowing aside a member of the Council of Heralds. If her patron has retired to bed, and Josephine has detected no threat at the party -

Lady Genevieve is sleeping in the west tower tonight; Josephine hikes up her skirts and runs up the stairs.

Perhaps she's wrong. She'll be so embarrassed if she bursts in on Genevieve's chamber and only succeeds in waking her up. Or worse, what if she's left true assassins to ply their poisons elsewhere in the building?

She slows, unsure, then sees a shadow above her. Waiting.

The figure hears her breath catch, knows when she's seen his ambush. She's grabbed from above, but she's ready. She kicks at his legs while she throws them both back into the wall. He's caught off guard but not for long, he grabs her hair and yanks, twisting her neck into a painful position. She forgets all she ever knew about swordsmanship or anatomy and bites his arm. He yelps, punches her in the face, knocks her back.

She barely sees more of the glint of the knife reflected in the moonlight from the window, but it crystallises in her head: I could die here. I could die now.

He lunges; she throws her hands up to fend him off and all the magic buzzing inside her fills her pounding chest and bursts out in a blast that sends the bard flying into the air. He smacks back into the wall and at first she's about to claim victory, but he doesn't stop, he slides down and staggers on the step. She reaches, but he's too disorientated to grab her hand. There's a cry and then he tumbles, over and over, until his body lies sprawled at the bottom, like a broken doll.

She stands there and breathes for what seems like hours. There's - nothing, no thoughts, just her brain shutting down while it tries to make sense of it. At some point she realises she's been making tiny, half-sobbing noises on each gasp.

That's when she notices Leliana, her face almost hidden in shadows, just waiting off to the side of the stairs.

Their eyes meet.

Josephine knows she should say something, anything. Or run. But the fight's left her. She starts making her way down the stairs. Her head aches from the attack, but that's not the only reason she has to hold onto the wall as she goes.

Leliana watches as Josephine crouches by the body and removes his mask. It's difficult. The blood is making the fabric stick to his skin.

But it comes away in the end.

"Beaumont?" she whispers.

He stares back at her, eyes as wide and frightened as hers were before. There's nothing more to say. She never heard his last words, and she has no more to give him.

She looks up at Leliana, waiting.

Leliana opens her mouth as if she's about to say something, then shuts it.

"I saw you flee the ballroom. I thought, maybe she's running towards something worth following." She looks Beaumont. "Your first death?" she says, not unkindly. "It wasn't your fault. He drew first."

Josephine takes little comfort. Firstly, it was her fault. If she'd only called out to the man, instead of immediately going for a fight -!

And secondly, Leliana is a bard. One of the best. Josephine will not fool herself that this is any more than a courtesy acknowledgement that her personal feelings aren't a part of her professional judgement. Leliana has her darkest secret and her worst moment, delivered like a piece of theatre.

So she doesn't answer.

Eventually Leliana simply nods, and leaves. It's too dark to make out her expression.

Josephine will never remember how she gets back to her lodgings that night. She'd had little to hide of her own activities; the magic was a bloodless weapon, apart from the stains on the tips of her fingers. And Beaumont was a bard careless enough to fall victim to circumstance, no-one will care apart from the cleaning servants. She thinks she might have just left.

How strange the Game is.

She spends the night sitting on her bed, alone and awake in the dark, exactly the same as she did when she was young and convinced the Templars were coming for her. Only now she knows they are. And this time, they might not just lock her up. She's no longer a child, she's a fully-fledged - and she cringes at applying the word to herself - apostate. And she's just used magic to kill. If that didn't merit Tranquillity, what would?

But she won't fight them, when they come. She feels Tranquil anyway, sitting on the bed and watching the sun bleed into the dark sky. Let them pass judgement. Today she killed someone she knew because she reached for her powers instead of her words.

But they don't come.

 

\---

 

She can't stay at home forever. She'll apologise, if they call while she's out.

In a low voice that sounds most unlike her, Josephine tells Lady Genevieve her intention to withdraw from her ladyship's service, Bardic life, and the Game itself. Genevieve's eyes narrow, and her replies are brusque, as though she considers Josephine a naive little girl who was frightened by the bloodshed. Josephine may have lost some respect there, but she thinks her Ladyship is still begrudgingly grateful enough for her life that she won't bother ruining Josephine's reputation. Not that it matters. Soon - well. Her reputation will be in tatters.

Will her name be forgotten when she is gone, or will she live in the hushed whispers of nobles? The spiteful, the ghoulish, the easily awed - there are plenty who will pass her story around until she's reduced to the essence of that night. 

Will her siblings hear it? Not Laure and Antoine perhaps, neither have ambitions outside Antiva, but Yvette? Will she be forced to enter a world mocking her for her sister? What will Josephine's parents think?

But the Templars do not come. They don't come that day, or the next, and they haven't come by the time she next sees Leliana at a soiree. Josephine spends the entire night avoiding her, ducking into crannies with her heart threatening to hammer out of her chest and static magic making hairs prickle out of her bun. But there are no consequences that time, or the next.

Is Leliana saving it for something dreadful? Would even she be that cruel? Oh, Josephine wishes she'd just get it over with!

There is one night where Josephine cannot sleep, and she's almost made up her mind to march down to the Circle and hand herself over, but she decides not to. The fact remains: Beaumont would have killed her, even her guilt can't convince her otherwise. And she didn't mean to do what she did. It was self-defence.

Does that make up for it? Of course not. He is dead and she was responsible. That fact overrides all others. He is dead and she was - is - dangerous. Magic or a blade could take life, but speech could have saved it. She'll never marvel at an assassin's skill in the same way again. But she doesn't believe she deserves a just sentence enough to condemn her innocent family along with her.

Josephine makes up her mind to seek out Leliana at the next soiree and ask her what her plans are exactly. Perhaps they can make a bargain. Asking a direct question is the height of rudeness, but for once manners must be put aside. She needs direct answers.

But she doesn't see Leliana at any more soirees. She doesn't see Leliana again. Marjolaine shows up to parties alone, or with a variety of attractive company, and Josephine wonders if she even had that piece of the Game wrong all along.

 

\---

 

Josephine returns to Antiva shortly afterwards. She is not completely disillusioned with the court - it's still marvellous in all its finery and the twists and turns of the Game - but she can't be a part of it. She sinks back into the earth of her family's vineyards and teases Yvette about her crush on Lord Cavolio and feels better for it, like a houseplant that's finally open to the sun.

But it cannot satisfy her forever. Josephine has grown beyond the estate; it's not time for her to return. Laure is perfectly capable at his share of the mercantile proceedings and Antoine perfectly capable at assisting him. Even Yvette has been given her own share of a vineyard to manage as a training exercise.

Where does one go with a deep knowledge of Orlais and little desire to move in its society? Why, to the embassy! Josephine sends a letter detailing her skills, experiences, and family line, and finds herself enthusiastically accepted.

The embassy is wonderful. There are always new people coming through, and sometimes Josephine is cementing connections with old school friends or court acquaintances, sometimes she's put with strangers. She starts as little more than cleric and administrator to the Antivan ambassador, but after a few incidents where she's the only one on hand in an emergency, she starts to get a reputation. She's known as someone who knows _everyone_ , either personally or by reputation, and although she used to plant incriminating evidence to start duels, she finds she's much better at stopping them. She's almost surprised at the praise she gets for it. Anyone with three younger siblings to manage would learn to distract and divert to stop a scrap.

When the Ambassador retires, the Council of Heralds themselves put in a good word for her promotion, and she finds herself running the Embassy.

It's not perfect, of course. Not every stranger can be fascinating or pleasant, and it's lot harder to avoid people she'd have preferred to cut ties with. Lord Lyons smells, Lady Demere is never, ever satisfied, and _both_ Lord and Lady Rougefort have a tendency to invade her personal space when they've enjoyed too much Antivan brandy. Not to mention the more trialling of her countrymen! Orlesians like to take pride in their nobility, but the strut of an Antivan merchant prince could make the Empress feel small.

But it keeps her busy. And busy is good, it keeps her too focused on guest lists and tariff issues to dwell on her magic. Nowadays, her main regret with magic is that she cannot use it to singe every prince's beard off. It might make one or two speechless for once, she thinks in a meeting, smiling as Prince Dario yells himself hoarse over three of his competitors.

 

\---

 

And then, as she settles into her new life, Leliana comes back and throws her off-centre again.

She hears it through the gossip lines, then officially from the monthly court report. After all, Leliana's not just a bard anymore. She's a veteran of the Fifth Blight, a confidant of the Hero of Ferelden herself, and the court's not above using the prestige of others to boost its own.

Josephine's...not afraid, exactly. It's been years since that night. But she's wary. Leliana is the only person who knows Josephine's secret apart from her own mother, and Josephine has no idea what Leliana's planning to do with it, or why she hasn't done anything already.

Josephine _needs_ to see her again. They have an unfinished conversation.

She declares a diplomatic ball in honour of Leliana's return. Even though they were little more than acquaintances, no-one seems shocked. Nobles hang much on the most tenuous of connections, and everyone wants to hear stories about the Hero. Besides, Josephine's known for - made herself known for - being a gracious and welcoming hostess, so it's all very much in character.

The Embassy hall isn't the grandest of locations - she keeps asking for a refurbishment budget, but will anyone _listen_ on the importance of appearances? - and the only people who can come at such short notice are the embassy staff, nearby politicians, and a few hangers-on she doesn't manage to filter, but Leliana comes anyway. Josephine reminds herself to take twenty minutes greeting the other guests before politely but firmly breaking into Leliana's conversation with Prince Garasona.

"Forgive me, Minister," says Josephine, and Leliana looks genuinely delighted to see her. Or, perhaps, an escape.

"Do excuse me," Leliana says, and steers Josephine off to stand near the refreshment tables.

"It's been a long time," says Leliana. "You look well."

"Perhaps having to deal with Garasona and his like is good for something after all," says Josephine. Then, "you look well, too."

She means it. Appearance-wise, she's changed little. Her hair is shorter now, that's all. But Leliana has always looked polished, poised, but always...at a remove somehow. Something about her confidence seems more natural now. And Josephine realises, this is the longest conversation they've had without Leliana's eyes flicking towards surrounding conversations, constantly alert.

"Do I?" says Leliana.

"You do. Though I'm a little afraid it's more Ferelden than my party that's lifted your spirits. We try our best in the Embassy, but it's difficult to compete with the Imperial Court."

Leliana smiles. "You mustn't be too hard on yourself. It's a lovely thought."

"You are too kind," says Josephine, dipping her head. "But I won't be offended if you don't want to spend the whole night, believe me."

"And leave you here to deal with the vultures, alone? Perish the thought!" says Leliana. They both wince as Prince Ignatio's increasingly heated debate with Prince Bruggio comes to blows. There's a crash that Josephine rather hopes is the large vase by the wall. She's been meaning to have it replaced, and this way they'll both be embarrassed enough to contribute to a new one.

"I tell you what," says Leliana, taking her arm. "Come with me, and we'll find a _real_ party."

Josephine stammers as Leliana stirs her along in her wake, leading her towards the stairs. "But my guests - the entertainment -"

"Come on now, Josie," says Leliana, and Josephine is too surprised by the nickname to cut her off, "you're telling me that Ambassador Montilyet didn't greet each and every one of her guests before hosting the guest of honour?"

"Well yes, but that's not the point -" protests Josephine, "- and where are we going?" If they're going to another party, she sees no reason they should be climbing the stairs.

"You allowed me a room in the embassy for the night, no? All my things are there." says Leliana.

"I - forgive me, I don't quite understand -"

Leliana grins as she pushes through the door. "Where I have in mind, you'll never be able to go in wearing that. Fortunately, I can lend you something...more appropriate."

They're alone now, but any thoughts Josephine had about confronting her over the magic issue go out of her head as Leliana starts fishing through chests, throwing out blouses and skirts and about seven pairs of shoes.

"A-ha! I knew it was here," she says, and holds up a leather breastplate.

"You want me to wear _that?"_ says Josephine.

"My spare armour," says Leliana. "It might be a little tight, but it should work as long as you don't plan to fight in it. I'll change into my main set."

" _Fight in it_ \- where on earth are we going?"

Leliana winks, and heaves the breastplate, followed by a skirt and boots, into Josephine's arms. "Relax! Trust me."

Josephine would like to say that Leliana forced her into it, but the truth is, she's far too intrigued now not to play along. And the alternatives are downstairs, brawling with each other and discussing the latest trade figure minutia. She starts shrugging off her top. Leliana is facing away from her and changing over a different chest. Josephine gets a view of her back, smooth and cream and oddly distracting, before Leliana puts a halter on.

Josephine knows Leliana fought in the Blight, but she's still awed at how well the armour suits her, somehow. She looks like - Aveline of Orlais, somehow, slight but dangerous, her shorter hair complementing the martial look. There's a sureness to the way she tightens her belt that makes her look like she belongs in armour.

Josephine, on the other hand, doesn't.

"It suits you!" says Leliana.

Josephine pokes at it. The leather is cutting into her underarms. "I'm not sure it fits," she says.

"No, no, that's why it looks good!" says Leliana, grinning.

Josephine looks at herself in the mirror. She's soft where Leliana is toned, and the outfit looks like little more than a costume without the muscles to go underneath it.

She can't help wondering whether she'd be better suited to robes.

 

\---

 

 _"Here?"_ says Josephine.

They stand outside a tavern, but not the respectable Embassy watering hole that Josephine is useful. Crashes and music are coming from within, together with the yells of both men and women. One of the windows is broken, and oh, the _smell_ coming through it.

"Scared?" says Leliana.

"I'm the Antivan Ambassador to Orlais!  I'll lose my reputation if they find out I was here."

"But they won't," says Leliana. "None of these people know what Lady Montilyet looks like, and besides, you're dressed in armour now. They'll think we're guards, or mercenaries."

"Well..." says Josephine. It would certainly be _new_ , and she's always loved new experiences. And the armour adds a thrilling sense of danger. "Alright."

"I knew you'd come around!" says Leliana.

The evening distracts Josephine completely from her anxieties over her secret. She struggles to find the right social note to take with the crowd, but Leliana leads the way, charming the red-faced group at the bar by swapping increasingly improbable battle tales (though from the look in her eye, Josephine isn't sure that Leliana's are even fake). They laugh when Josephine sputters over her first and only gulp of incredibly dreadful ale, but Leliana salvages their reputation by arm wrestling the burliest (and most obviously swaying, Josephine notices) man in the place. Then a band strikes up a dance that would be obscenely raucous at court, but has Leliana and Josephine laughing as they twirl each other, and finally Josephine makes up for any of her previous missteps by soundly beating an entire table at Wicked Grace, including Leliana.

It makes Leliana look at her in a different way, one she likes. Not the sheltered Antivan noble venturing into the public house, but one who can do it and _win_.

It's late when they finally depart, staggering slightly and weighed down with coppers from Josephine's winnings. Josephine is almost bent over with laughter.

"And then he - I can't believe anyone could drink so much while standing on their head!"

"You know what I couldn't believe," says Leliana. "Your face, when I suggested we go in. Had you never been in a tavern before?"

"I've never been anywhere like _that_ ," admits Josephine.

Leliana grins at her.

"You should have seen the ones in Ferelden," she says. "There was this one in Denerim - Maker! We helped a Rivaini pirate drive off a bunch of rowdy sailors at knifepoint. Then we had a drink with her, and...well," she smiles, secret and sly, "let's just say Amell and Alistair shared more."

 "The Hero and the King?" gasps Josephine. "No!"

"Oh yes," confirms Leliana. "The Hero wasn't always a hero, and Alistair was not always a king."

Josephine looks down and says, as conversationally as she can, "She was a mage, wasn't she? The Hero."

"Yes," says Leliana. "She'd spent her whole life in a Circle before joining the Grey Wardens."

They  reach the chantry, and Leliana sits on a piece of broken wall lining the garden. The street in front of the garden is empty, the nearby houses dark. It feels like everyone in the world is asleep but them.

Josephine is finally left with the question she's wanted to ask for the whole night.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" she says.

Leliana doesn't answer immediately, but she also doesn't bother asking what Josephine's talking about. Eventually, she says, "What would I have gained? Oh, perhaps I would have told, if I'd needed to bring you down, or maybe I'd have used it to influence you. That was...the person I was back then. I still am, in many ways. I'm not proud of it, but I won't give you lies."

Josephine takes in a shaky breath, but Leliana continues.

"But you walked away from the Game. You saved your patron, you could have chosen any reward, but you chose not to. And I don't think it was fear that decided you. I saw your face that night. I suppose part of me...respected your principles." She looks away. "Besides, I wasn't in Orlais for very long after that."

"What happened? You just disappeared."

"You know the Lady Marjolaine?" says Leliana. Josephine nods. "She was my patron. My lover as well. But she betrayed me in the end. I was almost arrested for treason, but I spent years hiding in the Lothering Chantry, till I joined Warden Amell. I didn't realise Marjolaine had been watching me that entire time." Leliana's lips form a twisted smile. "Not until she caught up with me in Denerim. But she won't be chasing me anymore." 

"I'm so sorry," says Josephine.

Leliana looks startled. "You really mean that, don't you? We barely know each other - you've been scared about what I might do, this whole time, but you still feel sorry for me."

"Of course I do!" says Josephine. "What you've been through - who wouldn't?"

"More people than you could imagine. Not many are as noble as you," says Leliana.

"Well, I - I think I'll have to disagree," says Josephine, blushing in the dark, and looks away.

They sit in silence for a while, while she works out how to frame her second question.

"About my...secret," she says, eventually. "Do you - are you planning to...do anything with it?"

"Will I tell, you mean?" says Leliana. "No. No, I think not."

Josephine doesn't say thank you, she just nods. Soon after, a figure crosses the chantry grass in front of them, heading in through the front door. Josephine recognises the profile.

"Sister Viola," says Josephine. "Maker save me from that woman, if he didn't have to deal with already."

Leliana looks at her. "You too? I used to know her when she was at the chantry in Val Royeaux. She was so snobbish, she used to petition the Divine to enforce dress standards for the congregations."

"The petitions!" groans Josephine. "The amount of times they've landed on my desk - and can you believe, she once came to berate me personally for not forwarding them on?"

Leliana leans over, next to her ear. "We should teach her a lesson."

"The thought is appreciated, but it'd only make her shriek at me louder."

"Not if she doesn't know who the lesson is from," says Leliana.

Josephine smiles slowly. "We could send her an anonymous message! Oh! And we could pin it to the chantry board."

Leliana's eyes sparkle. "I like the way you think. But what to write..." She looks up at the sky, then back down. "Wait! I have it. Oh, this'll be perfect. Dress standards indeed!"

And to Josephine's complete astonishment, she reaches down under the skirt of her armour, and slides her smallclothes down her legs. She flashes a smile, then sprints over to the Chantry board with a stealth that shouldn't be possible at speed, moving through the shadows like a mouse. And then she - and Josephine can scarcely believe her eyes - _pins the smallclothes to the Chantry board._

Josephine starts laughing, one hand over her mouth. "You _didn't_."

"Do you think the congregation will think they're hers?" says Leliana, laughing back.

Josephine can feel excitement tingling through her. It feels like magic. "Perhaps," she says, "we should really drive the message home." And then it's Leliana's turn to gape as Josephine strips off her own undergarments and runs to the board to pin them on, dangling beside Leliana's. They both start to giggle at the sight, then to laugh out loud. A light comes on in the chantry window and Josephine's laughter gets hysterically loud and Leliana gasps, "Run!", so they do. They run all the way back to the Embassy through the back streets, giddy with daring.

Josephine collapses against the embassy wall. "I admit it!" she says. "Your party was _much_ better than mine. That was..." she sighs, "the most exciting thing I've done since the Game."

"Perhaps I should drop by the embassy more often, show you how to relax a little," says Leliana, and smiles. "After all, it's always good to spend time with a friend."

 

\---

 

Josephine hears the winds of change long before they become a storm, but she never once considers that they'll reach her, let alone blow her away from the Embassy. During the Blight she heard countless tales of Ostagar, of Ferelden's tragedies, but apart from the increased charitable missions passing through the Embassy doors, and the messages of condolences and then congratulations to the new king that she had to pen, none of it was more than tales from far-off lands. And so it is with the mage rebellions. She hears the reports of incidents in Ferelden, in Kirkwall, and does nothing more than sigh and drink her tea. Once or twice she wonders what she would do, in their place. Would she obey the Templars from fear, or rise up for freedom? Having heard the terrible stories of what the free mages got up to, she honestly has no idea. However much her secret weighs on her, however lost and out of control she's felt sometimes, she thinks she may have chosen the simplest path. No-one demands her allegiance but her country.

And yet, barely a month after the fall of the Kirkwall Circle, she is invited to a conciliatory meal with a trader who she found out her family had overcharged and has been spending all hours since trying to make up the balance in favours. Instead of the trader, she meets Leliana. Once Leliana's calmed her down, she explains about the new faction demanding all her time - this Inquisition - and asks Josephine to join them.

"Please, Leliana, you are one of my dearest friends, but this is too much," says Josephine. "My work as ambassador is vital. Even more so if the Divine herself is wading into the conflict. I must be ready for when this hits Orlais."

"You can be, by joining the Inquisition," insists Leliana. Her tone is sharper than it used to be. Josephine remembers the woman who laughed her way out of a seedy tavern, who infused every word with warmth and the honey of a bard. Leliana works for the Divine herself, so surely her path must be good, but her face is so much stiffer now.

Josephine doesn't ask too much, when they get together. She knows what it's like to be compelled into a life that feels uncomfortable. Leliana has talked to her about the Blight, about when she thought Andraste called her, even about Marjolaine. If she doesn't want to talk about her work, then Josephine will simply try to distract her from it.

Josephine sighs. "If you need a diplomat, you should have just asked," she says. "I have some fine assistants who would do good work for you. I can recommend some names."

"Josie, it has to be you. Please. The Inquisition is fragile, it needs people who can be trusted. People like the woman who walked away from the Game when it betrayed her principles. Someone who let a secret slip to a spy and reached out instead of crushing. I know you think that's decency, but it's _you_. I devised the test with the trader to convince the Divine, but I knew all along you'd pass. You have painful integrity."

Josephine can only stare back. She's not sure she's ever heard Leliana so impassioned. It lights up her face in all the ways Josephine remembers.

"It'll be interesting, I promise," says Leliana. "I know you, you never turn down something that intrigues you."

It's true, and she accepts the offer, to Leliana's relief.

After all, she's also never turned down a friend in need.

 

\---

 

Josephine does good work for the Inquisition, even more so after the Conclave. Sometimes it feels like cold comfort against the snow and isolation of Haven, but she's nothing if not determined. She's hidden magic, survived the Game, and brokered an agreement over the appropriate garden boundaries between Prince Celestino and Prince Amando's estates. She can do anything. Though...sometimes it's hard to remember that, when even a tear in the sky can't convince people to stop bickering. One day the Inquisitor congratulates her on always managing to stay polite with nobles. She tells him she appreciates politeness, and it's true. What she doesn't say is that control is control, and once hiding one thing becomes second nature, it's easy to rein it all in.

The Herald of Andraste is a ray of hope, and she clutches at him. Not just for being Maker-sent, though she wants to believe, truly, but for being a mage who commands respect. Walking around, flashing his power, and _still free_. Not even that, but he extends that freedom to other mages, the ones Corypheus almost had. The ones she speaks to are awed by it. She sees mages bending down to touch the snow, melting it with magic, bringing it to their tongues and tasting in wonder. Most haven't felt snow in years. The sight sparks even her rebellious side, and only the reports of blood mages taking out their anger on innocents is enough to stop her backing the movement whole-heartedly. She wonders if Divar is still around, if he's among the rebels.

In fact, she's never seen as many mages using their power as she does in Haven, and later, in Skyhold. The fact they accepted aid from Solas, an elven apostate, is amazing enough, but Dorian?

The world is changing. It's almost enough to make her reveal herself, but not quite. Leliana never so much as tries to convince her to. She understands the value of secrets, even from those who can be trusted. Of course, it's not quite the same. Leliana takes pride in keeping people on the back foot. Josephine used to, but mostly she likes to vent and share her worries with friends. Just...not this one. She almost strikes up the nerve to tell the Inquisitor after the business with the assassination contract, but she's not quite that daring. Instead she shares something else she doesn't talk about; the night of Beaumont's death. She has to change some details of course: remove names, swap the magic for a push, wipe Leliana from the scene, but her guilt is present, and she feels better for sharing it. A little more intimate even, with the Inquisitor, though she pushes _that_ down quickly. A crush is one thing, but she can't afford to embarrass herself over it.

Vivienne is a revelation. Of course Josephine's heard of Madame de Fer, but never met her personally. She's not sure what she expected, but she hardly imagined a lady who could have stepped straight from the Empress's ball, carrying her magic with her like a good handbag. Josephine enjoys gossiping with her, when she gets the chance, but every time they talk about mutual acquaintances, Josephine's attentions are fully on Vivienne. Every time she wonders, briefly, if that could have been her. Openly...open, but not giving up an ounce of luxury or control.

But Josephine never wanted to be iron. Did it hurt Vivienne, she wonders, clawing her way to the top? Josephine would rather be gold, dazzling people away from any...trivialities underneath.

Vivienne has a lover, and tells almost no-one at Skyhold he is dying until he is dead. Josephine thinks she'd rather have no lover at all.

It's something she's thought a lot about, recently. She's seen the look in Blackwall's eyes, and even feels a certain affection in return, even though neither of them would ever let it come to anything. After all, her parents have spent the last year searching for a match.

She knows Leliana thinks her naive for never having partnered with anyone. Josephine sees the pain in her eyes and kindly concern, as if Leliana thinks she's experienced all the world's ills through Marjolaine and knows that Josephine cannot comprehend such pain, and Josephine wonders if she's the naive one.

Leliana comes from a position where romance is a weapon, a string to a bow to be cut when gone rotten, or some great ideal that would make her ten times the woman she is today. Josephine has seen houses rise and fall over a romance in the wrong place. It's a risk. She won't risk her family for anything.

And besides, if one person got that close, what might they discover about her?

She resigns herself to daydreams.

 

\---

 

"Do you ever use it?" asks Leliana one day, as the two of them are bent over the table in the War Room.

Josephine starts, but Leliana looks at her and adds, in a low voice, "We're alone." Josephine doesn't question this. If Leliana says they're alone, they're alone. Besides, the War Room was specifically chosen in part because of the difficulty of overhearing any important details through the massive oak doors. The only people who might possibly come in are the Inquisitor and Cullen, and neither would be a disaster, though she suspects Leliana also knows their current whereabouts. Leliana is not the only one who can consider all the variables.

She also doesn't bother asking what Leliana's talking about.

"Occasionally," she says, matching Leliana's murmur. She looks at the candle and draws the flame to her, to her palm, till it's nesting there. Then she puts it back, and looks up at Leliana. "I...prefer to keep my hand in. Just in case. And I can't deny it's useful when I can't find a match."

In actual fact, she's regained the habit she had years ago as a student, playing with the candle flame. It's soothingly familiar, and an outlet for all the energy and tension she works up in her job that makes her feel less like it'll just...burst out in the next council meeting. Carrying the candle round with her is a dreadful temptation, she knows, but she can't quite help herself.

"That's the first time I've seen you use it since -" Leliana stops.

Josephine shrugs, smiles. "I manage. In private."

"It's not fair," says Leliana, through gritted teeth. Josephine is struck by her determination, the same look that shone through when she dons armour, the same strength to her resolve as when she came and begged Josephine to come to the Inquisition. It's beautiful, she thinks, then stops, wondering where on earth that came from. Fortunately, Leliana isn't paying attention to her expression.

"I've killed," says Leliana. "Some with orders, some at my own hands. Men and women. I've lied and manipulated and organised the falls of a dozen nobles. You know they're thinking of making me Divine? They would appoint me as Andraste's representative, and have you locked away. They locked up Warden Amell too, until she was _useful._ How is that right? How is that just?"

The look Leliana wears when she talks about the Hero of Ferelden, thinks Josephine, is remarkably like the one she wears when she talks about Marjolaine. Well, perhaps it's not so surprising. Leliana does like her women strong.

"I'm not that blameless," says Josephine. "Besides, things are changing."

"Not fast enough," says Leliana.

 

\---

 

"I can't _believe_ you said I was - what was it? - an innocent in love!"

Leliana actually steps back from the force of Josephine's anger. It's rare to see her off-balance, but then again, it's even rarer for anyone to see Josephine lose her temper. A vindictive part of her revels in it. She's never been so ashamed as when she had to hear the Inquisitor bring all her fluttering, fragile feelings out into the open and squash them. Oh, her daydreams weren't serious, she'd have never acted on them - but that was precisely it. _They were supposed to be daydreams._

Sparks fly out around her hand.

"Well, you are!" says Leliana. "Have you ever had a single entanglement with anyone? You don't understand. I know how the heart can be hurt like nothing else. I didn't want that for you."

"Do you _realise_ how look at me sometimes?" Josephine spits. "Like during the business with the assassins, when I refused to send your spies in to kill and be killed. I know you thought I was weak for it, because you knew best." She shakes her head. Common ground is the start of all negotiations. "I got my hands dirty playing the Game, and survived, just like you. I've - I've killed a man, just like you. I'm not some...naive teenage girl, awestruck by the Orlesian court anymore!"

"I never thought you were weak," says Leliana. "I promise, Josie, I've never thought that of you. Just...inexperienced, in some areas."

"Inexperienced? Because I've never had a lover? You're right, I must seem dreadfully ignorant next to you," says Josephine, her voice high and stretched. "But do you know what it is to reject demons? To hide something that lives inside of you? To fight for your family's fortunes?"

"No," says Leliana, and looks genuinely sad. "I've no idea what it must have been like, dealing with your magic. The more I find out about what happens to mages, the more..." she pauses. "I wish I could protect you. And maybe that was wrong of me. You're right, you're strong and clever and more noble than almost anyone I know, but sometimes you don't realise how rare that is, and I want to make sure you never do. I don't have many true friends left. Those I do..." she looks into Josephine's eyes. "I would do anything for."

She has that look again, that determined, warrior-woman look, and as her lips settle into a firm line, Josephine leans forward and kisses them.

It's not like the kisses she's read about in books, and it definitely isn't like anything she's imagined. There's no whirlwind of passion, no enthusiastic declarations of thank the Maker, you feel it too!

Instead, she flinches back almost immediately, a little overwhelmed by her own daring. Leliana looks almost as awestruck. She touches her lips. There's a strange sense that something has shifted, not necessarily for the better. Both stare at each other, unsure of what follows.

"We shouldn't," says Leliana.

Josephine knew it was coming, but stares her back anyway. "Why not?"

"What about the Inquisitor?"

Josephine shifts. "I won't deny there was an...attraction, but nothing more. We've only known each other a few short months, and besides, he's interested in Cassandra. Anyway, he doesn't know everything about me. No-one does, except you."

"I won't be good for you," says Leliana. "I know - I heard what you said, I understand, but - not me. The things I've done for the Inquisition...before the Inquisition." Her eyes cast down. "I'll hurt you."

"You don't know that," says Josephine. "And even if you do, you know what I'll do then? I'll - I'll be sad and yes, I'll probably cry, and I'll learn from it, like other people do. If anyone's going to break my heart, I'd like it to be you. And if it works...I want to try. Unless..." she pauses, suddenly unsure, "you don't?"

"No," murmurs Leliana, as if she's coming to some realisation, "I do. I really do."

 

\---

 

Josephine cleans up herself after the victory party. She could leave the servants to do it, and normally would, but she feels like winding down a little. The dizzying aftermath of Corypheus's defeat combined with the announcement that came her way afterwards have left her buzzing.

There're footsteps behind her as she stacks plates, and then a kiss to the side of her neck.

"Taking on the servants' jobs now, Josie?" says Leliana, moving in beside her.

"What can I say? They deserve a night off as much as anyone."

"And you don't?" Leliana takes the plates off her, moves them to one side. "The party was fantastic. You really outdid yourself, especially considering how little time there was."

"Ah, no, I didn't have nearly everything prepared in time," Josephine says. "Fortunately, everyone was so happy about our victory that I don't think they noticed. Besides," she says, and smiles, "we both know it's not a real party unless someone's smallclothes are pinned to the chantry board."

Leliana's face lights up, and Josephine wants to kiss her.

"How about you leave the work for once, and come join me somewhere else?"

The somewhere else turns out to be one of the Skyhold balconies. The sun is setting. Josephine hasn't seen enough of the glorious sunsets here, constantly working late in her study. She wraps an arm around Leliana.

"Did you hear the news?" says Leliana.

"I hear congratulations are in order," says Josephine.

Leliana shakes her head. "I'm still surprised they picked me as Divine over Cassandra."

Josephine hesitates, then forces out her question. "What will this mean for us?"

"We carry on," says Leliana. "Discreetly, perhaps, but it can be done. Alistair and Amell have managed long enough. Unless..." she pauses, "you don't want that. I wouldn't blame you in the slightest."

"I want it," says Josephine. She smiles, with a little self-deprecation. "I'm good at keeping things hidden."

"You won't have to hide everything anymore," says Leliana. Josephine looks at her in surprise.

"I mean it," Leliana continues. "The Circles failed because they were abusive and wrong. The Chantry _cannot_ keep locking up children because they happen to have magic. I'm going to bring that all down. Everyone deserves freedom."

Josephine stares at her, but she can feel the first threads of anticipation working their way through her. Leliana is lit in shades of sunset with her head held high and if anyone could set Josephine, set the world free, it would be her.

"I've been meaning to ask, ever since you showed me in the War Room that day. Would you do some more magic for me?" says Leliana. "Don't worry. No-one can see up here."

It's true, realises Josephine. She thinks maybe she's never been so unafraid as here and now, with only the open sky and the woman who's always supported her.

She brings fire and snowflakes out of the Fade, and Leliana laughs.

 

 

 

 


End file.
